Trial of the Forsaken
by akumaREI
Summary: How is it that one single soul can change the life of an established mage of the Horde? Follow the journey of Zi'cal, troll mage, as he discovers there is more to life than destruction. More to death than the end. Rated for current chapters.
1. Prologue

_**Alright. Here is the updated prologue to the fiction previously known as Once were Warriors. If you read the first version of this, you will notice a LOT different. Including the name of our Troll friend. There's a lot more of an establishment in this version, some of which I hope will clear up some questions you might have had about the Troll. There will still be the time jump, but this time (since I was told to do so) I'll be including an announcement of the time difference. In any account, I hope you will enjoy this newer presentation of this fiction.**_

_**As always, I do not own the world in which these characters live, nor certain characters such as Thrall, Arthas and others. I do however own rights do Zi'Cal, Tainia, Dorgan and any other unfamiliar faces.**_

_**I am accepting fan art for this story and would greatly appreciate it.**_

_**And remember, read and review!**_

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The Eastern Plaugelands was not the highest on the list of tourist attractions when one visited the Eastern Kingdoms. It was not balmy like the jungles of Stranglethorn, and such a place would have been much more welcoming to the purple-hued Zandali troll that stood before the inn. With a casual scratch of his chest, Zi'Cal mused over the various tasks that might have brought him here. He had no skill with identifying and collecting herbs, so the exotic plant life of the scarred land was not his goal. Perhaps he'd offered his services to the Argent Dawn? No matter how hard he thought on it, he could not pin down the reason for being in this Goddess forsaken place. He scratched his chest once more and shifted his weight, his eyes not moving from their current distraction.

Before him lay the palest creature he'd ever seen, almost gray skinned. Translucent flesh was stretched tightly over a drawn face, as if even sleep could not keep the pain at bay. Black hair scattered out beneath the upper body, trailing along the ground like Death's fingers. The rest of the body was twisted almost sickeningly, a puddle of blood pooling beneath, testament to the gaping wound that marred it's side.

He nudged the body with the toe of his boot cautiously, as if expecting the prone figure to attack. After a few more ginger prods, he knelt down to study this girl, this Blood Elf, he reasoned. He noticed her lips were tinged blue, and after a quick brush of his forefinger, he realized it was either from cold, loss of blood, or in the worst case, both. His finger then traced her jawline to a scar that ran the length of her face, chin to temple. The line was faint and thin, an old wound that was properly healed.

Rocking back on his heals, Zi'Cal pondered his next move. As he weighed his options, he realized he was torn. He did not need the burden of yet another life's thread on his hands; keeping his clan alive in the terrors of Northrend was difficult enough, especially with the recent forthcoming of Arthas, the self proclaimed Lich King. 'Aftah all,' Zi'Cal thought humorously, 'She pick a good place ta die. Dere bound ta be a healah here at da inn.'

With a sigh, he kneeled down once more, this time to pick the girl up and carry her inside. He would be a very dumb troll to upset his Goddess and ancestors, which he was very well on the way to doing with his brief moment of selfishness.

Once inside the inn, he dropped the necessary gold into the inn keeper's hand and rattled off an excuse as to just why he had an unconscious girl in his arms. The keep seemed to believe the troll when he said the girl's condition was a result of the rigorous journey to Light's Hope. He made his way to the designated room without much interference.

After checking the door twice for a secure lock, he laid the girl on the bed and ripped her tunic enough to allow access to her injured side. The cut was not deep, more long than anything. It was clean edged, so he was sure it was not one of the animals of the Plaguelands. 'Dis look like da work of a sword.' He thought, but what here in the Plaguelands wielded bladed weapons? Other than...

Zi'Cal pushed the thought from his mind, focusing instead on cleaning the cut. He was not a healer, so his mediocre first aid skills would have to suffice until he could get her the proper attention she would need. The idea that he could be helping the enemy kept trying to jump to the front of his mind.

He adjusted the last bandage and stood, lighting a fire in the hearth with a flick of his wrist. The basin on the dresser was full, as was the pitcher next to it, giving him plenty of water to wash them both up. Zi'Cal told himself that what would follow was simply for the girl's safety and was not meant to be perverted. He could not help but blush as he slowly removed her black steel armor and her royal purple tunic and leggings. He made the decision to leave her undergarments where they belonged.

The girl was cleaned quickly, her skin even paler now that the dirt, grime and caked blood was cleansed away. More scars like the one on her face littered her body, accented with scars that seemed intentional, rune-like, that wrapped around her shoulders, down her back and over her stomach. Faint blue tattoos traced along the scars and continued up onto her jaw and over her collarbone. Zi'Cal's stomach clenched with a sense of dread. The tattoos were familiar. They were not of his homeland, nor of the Horde. These were the same runes engraved onto a weapon that haunted his sleep, a weapon that did not kill it's opponents, but decimated their bodies and enslaved their soul.

This girl was a servant of the Lich King himself. Zi'Cal's realization made him reel back in a moment of terror. His eyes slid from her body to her armor that was now sitting near the dresser. Armor like that wasn't cheaply made. It wasn't patched, dented or even showing signs of wear. He looked back to her body, examining the scars of past battles. Judging by these marks, her armor was remade rather than repaired. No simple errand runner would warrant such armor.

With a firm swallow, Zi'Cal draped the blanket over her frail body and lit a fire in the hearth with a flick of the wrist. No matter who she was, it would be wrong of him to have let her die. He'd mended her the best he could. The cleaning staff tomorrow could find her. They'd be sure to get her to a healer.

With that last thought, he walked from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Getting this chapter up now. Hopefully getting a lot of content out to you guys will warrant me some reviews? -beg-**_

_**Again, I do not own the world/characters Blizzard created.  
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_3 years ago  
Durotar, Kalimdor_

Chapter One

The sun beat down on the training grounds mercilessly, scorching everything it touched, especially the two combatants. A lithe Blood Elf faced off against a fully grown male Orc who was breathing heavily. The Elf stood barely supported by her large sword, her arms shaking from exhaustion. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she nodded at the other and he instantly relaxed and came over to her.

"Tainia, if you keep pushing yourself this hard, you're never gonna survive long enough to prove yourself to the Warchief." The Orc grunted as he dropped down to sit on the low fence that ran the perimeter of the small farm's livestock pen.

Sighing heavily, the Elf nodded and sat next to her companion. "I know that Dorgan, but I just have-"

"To show the Horde what you and your people are capable of. I know Tain. But don't you think the time for proving yourself is over? You have representation in Thrall's counsel. The Horde accepts you! The Elves have proven their worth at Black Temple, at the Sunwell. Many battles have been decided by your people."

Tainia shifted her sword into her lap, pulling a cloth from the pack at her feet. She began to wipe her blade as she spoke. "But how many of those battles were only fought _because_ of my people. The honored Kael'Thas and his Keep, the Sunwell itself? The Amani were severed from the Horde and made war with their own people. I have to prove that we're not all like that."

"Killing yourself in the process is not proving anything."

The Orc's words settled on the two like ice. Tainia shivered in response, not liking how truthful the words were. Dorgan leaned back a bit, removed his mail gauntlets and rubbed his wrists tiredly before continuing. "Life is too precious to be squandered away."

Tainia scoffed and laid back longways between the fence posts, her small body balancing easily on the thick plank fence. "Dorgan the Grim, slayer of thousands, _The Widower_." She mused, the smirk on her face firmly in place to mask the fear she felt. Going into this subject was deadly, even for someone like herself who'd lived with the Orc for years and known him much longer. "You think you can actually lecture me on the value of life?" Even as the last syllable left her tongue, she knew she'd gone too far.

"It is my past, my legacy that makes me truly understand the importance of life. I've felt the dying beats of a child's heart in my hand, I've tasted the blood of hundreds on my tongue. It has been by my blade that many great warriors were sent to the Nether. I know death. I am death, and therefore, I do know the value of life. You will do well to learn from me before you have to make your own path." With that, he stood with a short grunt and walked back towards the city.

The long speech surprised Tainia. Usually after egging him on, he stormed off in a rage, not returning for hours. What shocked her more than the fact that the lecture had even happened was the way it was all said. He wasn't angry with her. Far from it in fact. It seemed as if he was begging. But for what? Did he see something she could not? She knew shamans had the fortune of being sent visions by the Gods... Did she want to know if one had been about her?

With another sigh and the resignation to try and understand the opposite sex and holy entities at a later time, she began cleaning up their small training area. After finishing and double checking for left over supplies, she began her way back to the stronghold. Knowing Dorgan, he was most likely already home.

Orgrimmar was a place many called home. The temperature was less to be desired, but people still flocked to the desert capital hoping for a free room. The vertigo suffered in Thunderbluff and the bone chilling cold of the Undercity kept most from residing within the Tauren and Undead capitals. Most Horde would rather sleep in ogre caves than reside in Silvermoon.

Tainia and Dorgan were lucky enough to own an entire home, not just a room and communal bathroom like the majority of the population. They lived in a small hovel in the Valley of Spirits and had been there for nearly three years. They'd grown rather close since they first met in Thrallmar so many years ago and contrary to the gossipers in the inn, they were not a couple.

As the Elf meandered along the worn path past the flight tower, a foul smell assaulted her senses. Her head snapped up, black hair briefly in her face, as if the source of the stench was in front of her, waiting to be seen. It was a yellow smell. That of medical tents, death, decay. It was the smell of a morgue.

Fearing the worst she dashed forward, skidding through the main hall and out into the Valley of Strength. The sight made chills slide down her spine. Bodies were everywhere, littering the ground. Packs of mutated flesh roamed among the dead, trailing green clouds behind them. She watched in horror as one of the packs pounced on a female Troll and her young child, the weight of the fiends crushing their victims. The child's screams echoed in Tainia's ears.

Shaking the fear from her mind, she rushed off in the direction of her house, praying she'd find Dorgan there, safe. The sound of terrified commoners and the familiar thunk of steel meeting flesh and bone chased her, urging her to run faster. Just as she entered the Valley, she heard the thunder. Great bolts of lightning shot through the air cutting through the corpses and scattering their charred parts along the ground. The aftershock of Dorgan's spells left Tainia's ears ringing and hair standing on end. It was familiar yet frightening. It wasn't often she felt this magnitude of power. During their spars he restrained himself, not wanting to harm her in the off chance a spell landed. She'd only witnessed this elevation of power when they were fighting Illidan Stormrage himself alongside their clansmen so many months ago.

Just as she was about to jump into the fray and aid her friend, Dorgan caught sight of her. "Get to the Warchief!" He yelled as his flame-coated axe ripped open the abdomen of a necromancer, spilling his innards on the ground. "Protect the-" the words cut off by a minion throwing himself into Dorgan's stomach. "Warchief!"

Tainia's heart was in two places. Her best friend was being overpowered, taken down by too many. Her sense of duty however lead her in the direction of Thrall's chamber.


	3. Chapter 2

**Here we are with chapter two of Trial of the Forsaken. I believe this will be the first chapter exclusive to the revamped version of Once Were Warriors. **

**Again, if you recognize a character, they probably belong to Blizzard. Tainia, Dorgan and Artan belong to me.**

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Tainia powered through the streets, bringing her fingers to her lips in a shrill whistle. Seconds later her horse caught up to her, slowing only long enough for her to fist her hand in its mane and swing herself into the saddle. Jaspin carried her swiftly toward Thrall's chamber. The Drag was eerily deserted aside from two troops of guards that were running for the front gate. As she rounded the corner and Thrall's chambers came into view, her heart leapt into her throat, just as every other time she'd laid eyes on the impressive building. The chamber door was sealed, but with a hard push, Tainia was inside.

The first room was as deserted as the streets, the candles along the walls were not even lit. She ran farther in to the war room and was assaulted by the frantic and raised voices of Thrall's advisors. Before she could interject, the din was interrupted by a calm, cool female voice.

"This affects us both, saying it doesn't and that we're on our own is death for both Alliance and the Horde."

"Jaina be right. We need ta join togedda ta defeat dis enemy dat plagues us bot'." This voice was another female. Unlike Jaina, this speaker's voice was deep and raspy, one that Tainia recognized as her friend Artan, representative of the Le'Jin, a small village of island Trolls.

"Ah, Tainia." Thrall spoke, interrupting the women. Thrall's face was drawn and aged, and briefly reminded her of Dorgan. "What is the state of things?"

"Not good, Warchief." Tainia began with a quick bow of respect. "Even as we speak, Orgrimmar is being taken over. Packs of creatures are running the streets, killing women, children and warriors alike."

Jaina's nose raised a bit into the air, her dislike for the Elf clear on her face. "Are you not the Widower's apprentice? Why would you run away from the battle and leave your lover to die? Again?"

"Shall we talk of lovers Jaina?" Tainia all but growled, stepping toe to toe with the mage.

"Bot' of ya stop!" Artan said, stepping between them. "Don' cha see we have biggah issues dan yer hatred?"

Tainia gave Jaina one last glare before stepping back, her hand dropping from the dagger concealed in her belt. "Ya be lucky, Human," Artan said over her shoulder as she pushed Tainia back a few more steps. "Dat we be in T'rall's chambah."

After a few moments, Tainia had calmed enough to speak once more. "I request that the Honor Guard head out into Orgrimmar and wipe out this threat before it consumes our entire city. Already they push past the entrance of the Drag. They have already killed Doras, the flight master. There will be no escaping the city walls. Help will not arrive in time."

Thrall sat back in his great chair, mulling over her report. Sending the Guard would leave him defenseless. But sending them was the only chance of saving this city, saving the people, the innocents. With a curt nod, Thrall spoke. "You shall have them. Vol'jin will remain here with me as an extra pair of eyes. Ride swift, Tainia." Thrall then took Tainia's arm in a warrior's handshake and to the amazement of the onlookers, he bowed his head slightly to the Elf. "You will bring honor to your family and to your people this day. The Gods foresee it."

Nodding to the Orc, Tainia gripped his forearm tightly, taking reassurance from his strength. She turned and winked at Jaina before leading the small troop from the war room. Artan followed closely behind her, Ashbran, the Huntress' spectral cat, brought up the rear. Various other warriors, priests and rogues followed Tainia into the Drag, once more mounted on their mounts of choice. Jaspin lead the pack proudly, his head held high as if he was a parade horse leading the Warchief himself into battle. When Tainia pulled the reins at the entrance of the Valley of Strength, the horse continued to prance in place, his armor clinking against that of his rider's.

There was no time for emotional speeches. No time to prepare her meager army for battle. Instead, there was only a breath's moment before the handful of fighters plunged into the undead filled streets.

The stench of the living dead was soon chased from Tainia's nose by the smell of blood and carnage as her blade ripped through abomination after ghoul after necromancer. The blood rage that pumped through her veins made decisions for her: swing, duck, power through, block, dodge. Holy power rippled around her as she manipulated her longsword. The haze of battle clouded her vision, that was until she saw the mangled Orc.

Dorgan's body was slouched against the bank, one leg skittered to the side, bone protruding from ripped and bleeding flesh. One hand still gripped the pommel of his axe, the other arm torn from his body. His chest rose and fell with laborious breaths, eyes forced to remain open. Tainia's rage once more rose in her chest at the sight of her friend.

Swinging wildly, she cut through every vile creature that stood between her and Dorgan. The searing pain through her side barely a bee sting. The arrow that found it's way through her ribs only a pin prick. She fell to her knees beside the dying Orc, her hands on his face, his neck, his torn chest. Tears streaming red down her cheeks.

Dorgan struggled to meet her eyes even though she was only a few inches from his face. His lips quivered as he tried to smile at her. He grunted and his eyebrows knitted. She nodded in understanding. His request was an obvious one. She pulled his axe up and crossed it over his chest, squeezing his hand firmly around the grip. "Blessed be on your journey to the Nether, great one." She prayed in a whispered voice, with her words came a yellow light that wrapped them both in its holy power. They both sighed their last breath: Dorgan of bloodloss, Tainia from the sword that connected with her spine as she lay mourning.


	4. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter three.**

**Again, I only own Tainia, Dorgan and Artem.**

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A voice. No, two voices. A conversation. Two men discussing things in hushed tones, but loud enough to be heard by those who wanted to eavesdrop. Next came the pain. A boneshattering pain in the side, the back, the chest. A dry mouth, pounding head and tumultuous stomach. To say Tainia's trip from death to the living was a torturous one would be an understatement.

Through sheer will, the young Elf kept herself still and her breathing regulated. She mentally surveyed her situation. A tiny movement of her wrists proved that she was indeed bound to what seemed to be a very cold table or stone bed of somesort. Perhaps in a cave? Listening carefully she heard nothing more than the soft tones of the male voices and the whisper of many feet shuffling, thudding and clattering about, though obviously not in the immediate room. The biting chill in her bones was the result of a few possibilities: bloodloss, overexposure or nudity. Worried that the fear of being naked in the presence of unknown men may make her blush, she pushed the thought from her mind and focused instead on the words of the voices.

"...will not be happy with the attack." The first voice was very formal. The lilting syllables reminded her of a human correspondent that once visited Orgrimmar on one of the many "truce treaty readings."

"He must see ... did all we could. The death count ... pleased." The second voice was darker, accent a bit thicker.

"If you are so sure of the success, you will be the one to tell him!" The formal one said. The second that the room quieted from his outburst, the temperature plummeted to unearthly levels. It took all of Tainia's power not to cry out in shock and pain.

"Tell me?" The voice shuddered with power. The very sound of it made Tainia sick, almost physically so. It sounded as if many voices were speaking and everyone of them an evil demon.

Formal spoke first. "The attack on Orgrimmar went as planned. There were a few variations... variables that we were not prepared for. Overall it was a success."

"Thrall is dead and his city under my control?" Tainia nearly cried at the sound of the voice and how calmly he spoke of the fall of her beloved home.

"Not exactly." Accent started, his voice beginning to shake. "Thrall barricaded himself in his keep. Some warriors stood against us. Eventually we were forced into a retreat... it seems the Horde was prepared for an attack and reinforcements arrived."

"Do you understand the message we have just given the Horde?" The demonic voice asked. "We have just told them that we can be defeated. We can be scared. Run off like street dogs." The temperature dropped even more and then the sound of metal scraping rock echoed around the room. The grotesque sound of a choking man startled Tainia and she risked peeking through her lashes. A formidable man stood clad in dark blue and black armor, ice blue eyes glowing within his helm. His hand reached out to a common looking man who stood out of arms reach. As the dark armored man clenched his fist, Accent's throat collapsed and his neckbone shattered. His lifeless body tossed effortlessly over the rail of the precipice they stood on.

"Tell Valanar to clean that up." The dark man said as he walked away. "Your newest find is a good one, Mograine." He said over his shoulder to Formal. "Though she needs to be taught that eavesdropping is unbecoming." And with that he was gone and Tainia was made.

Mograine waited until the room had warmed back up before moving over to Tainia who'd already given up faking her sleep and was wide-eyed and fighting her bonds.

"Calm down, young one." He said, his voice once again the softer tones she'd first heard upon awakening. "Now let's see, what can you tell me about yourself?" The girl remained quiet though she did still her thrashing. "Telling me will not empower me nor weaken you. However not telling me _will_ kill you. It is your decision."

With a sideways glare, Tainia took a small breath before speaking. "I am Tainia Emberglaive. I am a Paladin in service to Silvermoon City, Orgrimmar, the Horde and the uniter of the races, Warchief Thrall." With a small nod, Mograine stepped back.

"You are indeed Tainia. Though the crock about your service must be a mistake. Tell me of family? Friends?" This time, when Mograine stepped close he brought with him a new and strange smell. As Tainia tried to focus on names to tell this strange man, the letters became skewed. Their faces blurry.

"I have none." She finally stated.

"And where is your allegiance?" He asked, the smell becoming stronger.

"To no one."

"Ah but Tainia, don't you remember pledging your service to the Lich King? As a knight in his order?"

"No." The smell hit her harder, starting to burn her nose. "Yes." She amended. She never felt the freeing click of the shackles that once bound her wrists.

Mograine smiled a smile that could only be perceived as sadistic before stepping away. "Good." He turned and began walking away. "Keleseth will have your repaired armor so once you feel up to moving, see him." He paused his retreat. "Oh and Tainia. Try not to nearly kill yourself this time."

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Once she'd shaken the fuzzy feeling from her limbs, Tainia stood from the painfully cold examination table and began picking her way around the gigantic body parts that littered the area. She had no clue where to find this "Keleseth" fellow and was not too keen on sticking around in this horrendous place in case he happened to show up. She was relieved to note that she was indeed still fully clothed, but only barely so. A cloth bandage wrapped around her middle and covered her breasts. Tight, leather leggings completed with leather boots finished off her ensemble. She stumbled a few more feet, wishing for the moment that her legs would once again be hers to fully control.

"Ahem..." The quiet sound of someone trying to get her attention. She backpeddled to the doorway she'd just passed. Inside stood a male... blood elf? He seemed to favor the men of her kind but his coloring was too dark. His eyes blood red. "Nice to have you back Lieutenant." The man said. "I hope everything is here and is properly repaired for you."

Tainia looked over the assortment of metal pieces and chain mail. The steel glittered. The chain like glass. The leather straps were oiled and smooth, not cracked as would be expected of 'repaired armor.' She couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. This armor was not repaired. It was new. Why then was this man lying to her?

With a sigh, Tainia stepped forward. "It will do."


End file.
